


Where's He Gone Now

by neveralarch



Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Gen, Postseries, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Malcolm's phone rings. It does that a lot, though not as often as it used to.</i> (Malcolm after the inquiry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where's He Gone Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollenius/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, hollenius! I hope you like this ficlet.

Malcolm's phone rings. It does that a lot, though not as often as it used to. The call isn't from the media (the ID says 'Goat-Faced Cunt'), so Malcolm pushes his keyboard away, leans back in his chair, and answers it.

"Malcolm, hi," says Ollie Reeder. "How have you been?"

"Fine," says Malcolm.

Silence on the line, for a moment.

"That's it?" Ollie sounds almost disappointed. "You're not going to swear at me and call me a double-crossing idiot with shit coming out of my eyes due to a horrible retina infection I got from letting Dan Miller fuck my face?"

"No," says Malcolm. "Did you need something, Ollie? I'm a bit busy."

"Doing what?" says Ollie, suspiciously.

Malcolm plays with a pen on his desk. "I'm writing a children's book."

Silence again, this time disbelieving.

"Malcolm," says Ollie, at last. "Are you all right?"

You tell me, asshole, thinks Malcolm. Dumped me after that fucking inquiry, dropped me like a sack of fucking shit that was just beginning to stink, and now you're calling to see if I'm all right? Where were you during the trial? Where were you when the media was lining up to fuck me in every possible orifice? You tell me if I'm _all right_ , you inescapable little prick.

But Malcolm is tired, bone-tired ever since he started politics and more so since he left, and he just doesn't have the energy.

"What do you want, Ollie?" he says, instead.

"Right, well," says Ollie, obviously off guard. "We need some files out of your old server, but the whole thing's password protected and Sam won't give us the password. Could you-"

Malcolm cackles, actually cackles. He stops just long enough to hear Ollie say "Malcolm-" and then hangs up. 

The grin sticks on his face for seconds, making the muscles around his mouth sore. Ollie Reeder'll get no help from him.

The phone buzzes, like an annoying little insect, and Malcolm drops it into the wastebasket. He feels energized, and he cracks his knuckles and draws the keyboard back to him.

 _The arrogant young wasp asked the angry spider for help to build his nest,_ he types, _because wasps can build nests with mud and paper but it all falls apart in the end. The wasp thought that if the spider gave him some of his web, then he could use it to hold his new nest together. But the angry spider was very angry and the arrogant young wasp had been very cruel, once upon a time, so the wasp got no help from the spider. And when winter came, the nest fell apart and the wasp had to fly in the cold with no home to go to._

Wishful thinking, really, but kids love that stuff.

The phone buzzes again in the wastepaper basket, and Malcolm kicks the whole thing over and starts another page.


End file.
